


Via, Veritas, Vita

by iimprobableone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Boarding School, Bullying, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock, Molly Is Cute As Hell, Private School, Protective Mycroft, Romance, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlolly - Freeform, Teenage Drama, Teenlock, They're Both Around 16/17 At The Beginning, smut probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimprobableone/pseuds/iimprobableone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corpus Christi is the most selective school in the United Kingdom. Former students include former Prime Ministers, Nobel prize winners, and world renowned scientists, authors, and musicians. Luckily, Molly and Sherlock are the most selectable students in the country. </p><p>Molly is a fresh-faced sixteen-year-old girl, out of her league when compared to her rich-beyond-your-wildest-dreams classmates. However, not in the academics department. Eager to make friends and excel at the new school, she hopes to settle in quickly. </p><p>On the flip side, Sherlock never even wanted to go in the first place. He has nothing but contempt for the institution, and is sent against his will by Mycroft after being expelled from countless other schools.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Via, Veritas, Vita

**Author's Note:**

> For my non-English readers: 
> 
> A sixth form is a two-year schooling period where you go from sixteen to eighteen, wedged inbetween secondary school and university. You do your 4 A-levels there, which are sort of the most important qualifications you'll ever get, because they decide where you can go from there. Getting good grades at this stage are normally infinitely important for English kids!
> 
> Thanks in advance for reading, please enjoy :)

Corpus Christi Sixth Form was a sight to behold. A gothic, Victorian building, stone weathered and beaten by the hands of time. It stood, looming and swimming in its own unique aura, right in the centre of two square acres of land, which, itself, was placed on the outskirts of an affluent London suburb. 

Molly’s heart jumped as she finally caught a glimpse of it. Yes, she had seen pictures, she had studied them with the intensity of someone looking for clues, and yet, it looked even more magnificent now. The stone angels and cherubs that were perfectly carved in seemed to not look at her, but rather, up to the heavens, as if confronted with God himself descending down upon them. 

Another car drove past her. This time, it was a Mercedes. The last two had been Range Rovers, and then the one before that, a Jaguar. The windows were without exception always blacked out, as if the people inside had something to hide from the lowly serfs that gazed inwards. She found it strange (if not telling) that not once had a car stopped and offered her a lift up the quarter-mile driveway, especially as they saw her – a waif of a girl – pulling her large red suitcase behind her, along with a duffel bag, and a backpack. 

She tried not to take it to heart. As she approached the double doors – wooden, huge, with carvings of roaring jaguars in them – they had both been propped open with weights, and kids that looked to be around sixteen, seventeen and eighteen (the only age group the school catered for) were doing farewells with their parents. 

There was a man stood behind a large desk inside, and on spotting him, Molly began to worm her way past everyone, trying not to get in the way, making sure to smile at anyone she made eye contact with.

Breathless, the got to the desk. “Hello!” Her lack of breath certainly showed in her voice, and her flushed pink face. 

He looked her up and down with his beady eyes, hidden behind a layer of thick rimmed spectacles. She suddenly became conscious of what she was wearing; trainers, skinny blue jeans, and a somewhat floral t-shirt underneath a navy zip-up hoodie, currently unzipped. 

“Welcome to Corpus Christi.” He gave a warm, practiced, and tired grin. “What’s your name, please?”

“Molly Hooper.” She returned the smile, hoping that it reached her eyes, unlike his.

“I trust you haven’t come from our secondary school, then?”

“No, no.” She watched, touching the back of her damp neck as he ticked her name off a list. “I guess most people here have, though?” 

“Most, yes. But don’t worry, everyone here is very friendly.” He looked back up at her with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll make friends very quickly, seeing as you’re boarding.”

“Well, with any luck.” She replied, with a small laugh.

The man returned her good humour. “You’re in room fifty-five B. The route is well sign-posted. Here’s your key, and information packet.” He handed her a crisp envelope, with an imprint of a delta shaped fob inside. “Don’t worry about getting lost, it’s all part of the process. Oh, and on a quite related note, welcome to Capulet. I’m your head of house. You better excel at something or other, Hooper, as we intend to defend the house cup.” He gave her a playful smile.

“Thank you, Sir. And I’ll try my hardest at that excelling business.” With that, she turned, and looked to the hallway. 

Pressing the fob to the electronic lock outside the door of her room and then entering, she was instantly awestruck. The room was beautiful, and it looked out onto the sun-soaked playing field, lined with huge old trees. In the distance, she could see London, but at the same time, it felt so far away. There was a huge bay window, and then two long rectangular ones to the side. To her right was the door to what was presumably the bathroom. In the left corner was a single bed, on the wall next to the bathroom door was a desk and chair, already equipped with a lamp, and at the foot of the bed was a chest, and opposite that, a wardrobe.

It was light, airy, and a blank canvas. She already loved it. Grinning, Molly propped her door open with her suitcase, and went and sat on the bed, the pillows sat atop the folded bare duvet at the end of the mattress. She ripped open the info packet, and started reading ravenously, devouring every word with a gleeful hunger. 

She took out her timetable and her heart skipped in her chest. This was happening. It was really happening. Finally, all her hard work, it had paid off. And here she was, somewhere she had dreamed about almost every day. It felt as if she was still in a dream.

“You the new girl?” 

Molly snapped out of her thoughts, and looked to her open door. A girl leant on the doorframe, arms folded across her chest. With her short bleach blonde hair, curvy frame, cute button nose and fashionable clothes, she looked a little too cool to be talking to Molly.

“I,” She was frozen, for a moment. Was this girl’s intent malicious, or was it a simple, innocent question. “Yeah, I suppose.” Molly stood up with a warm smile across her face. “I’m Molly Hooper.”

“Mary Morstan. Pleased to meet you.” She grinned, and stepped over the suitcase, into her room. “Hey, you’ve lucked out with this.”

“It’s ridiculously nice for a student to be living in, I know.” She gave a bit of a breathy, and nervous laugh. 

“Well, assembly’s in three quarters of an hour. You can come with me, if you want.”

She was shocked at how easy it had been to make a friend. Molly hadn’t even attempted to approach someone, and yet, she was already getting a chaperone somewhere? She was on a winning streak. 

“That’d be great, thanks. Where’s, er, where’s your room?”

“Hm?” She seemed almost surprised by the question. “Oh, I’m just a few doors down.”

 

Once Molly had finished unpacking, she decided to explore a little, before meeting up with Mary. It was early September, and there was still a strange lingering summer heat, as if the weather had forgotten that this was Britain. Then again, she wasn’t about to complain. Taking out her map, she decided to walk down to the music block, to put her small bag in one of the pigeonholes that should be there for her, in one of the rooms.

Going across the courtyard and into the opposite building, floods of people, both students and teachers, chatted and ambled, caught up with friends they hadn’t seen for eight weeks. The atmosphere was ludicrously relaxed, as if, for just this day, everyone had forgotten that this was a school. 

The music block was cooler than outside and the other buildings. She suspected it had something to do with better ventilation, seeing as it was a more modern building. Walking along the now silent hallway, she saw a fish tank at the end of it. That was even worse. What sort of school had a fish tank? Her mum had been right when she had taken the mick out of her going to Hogwarts, asking whether they should buy a broom. 

That was when she heard it. 

Violin. The sound was what she envisioned a bird to hear when it soared above the earth. Long, high-pitched strokes, all expertly played. There was no way that was a student, was there?

Feeling stupid, she started towards it. It grew louder as she did. She faltered when the player did, and heard a few dark mutterings, before it started up again, just as flawless as the last time.

“Sherlock, will you stop playing that bloody violin and unpack your things!” An older man’s voice, hissing.

“Hmm…” A younger boy’s voice. “No.” 

“Would you stop being such a child?!”

Molly crept closer, now feeling intrusive, but not really caring.

“I’ll consider that when you stop treating me like one, thank you.” The playing started again. The serenity was now a pacifist defiance, and she had to stifle a laugh.

“What else was I supposed to do, Sherlock? Mummy was out of her mind with worry.”

The violin stopped with the sudden fashion of a screeching race car. “I don’t understand why. It really is none of her business.” 

“We’ll discuss that later, Sherlock.”

“Why later, Mycroft? Can’t think of any logical reasons that I wouldn’t be able to dismantle yet?”

“No. Because we are being listened to.”

A thrill of fear ran through her, freezing. What was she supposed to do? Run? Or stick it out? Apologize? 

“Oh, for God’s sake. You’ve made me into a spectacle, Mycroft.”

“You don’t need any assistance when it comes to drawing attention, brother dear.”

She cleared her throat, and approached the open door, an apologetic smile upon her features. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression. I was just sort of… waiting for an opening.”

The two raised an eyebrow in unison. She would’ve been able to tell that they were related, if she hadn’t already have known. The older man (although he only looked to be in his early twenties) as dressed in a pinstriped suit. Strangely, he was leaning on an umbrella, although it hadn’t rained in a week. Then again, she guessed it was just a quirk, as his black tie had little white umbrellas on it.

When her eyes rested on the boy, everything went to hell. It was if someone had got hold of her, like some old box, and emptied her insides out. Even with the judgemental expression he held, he was beautiful, strangely attractive in a way you couldn’t really put a finger on. His skin looked smooth and clear, his hair, a dark mess of soft black curls, and high cheekbones, almost too pronounced for a boy of his age. His slender, elegant hands grasped onto a violin and a bow. He was dressed in a crisp white dress shirt tucked into dark jeans, almost looking like he was trying to look older than he actually was. In a cute way.

“I’m Molly Hooper. Are, uh, you from the secondary, or are you new too?”

“Hooper. Your pigeonhole’s the furthest right, fourth row up.” The boy named Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes off her. 

She glanced behind him to the wall of pigeonholes, and thanked God God that hers was in this room. Molly raised her eyebrows, and looked back to him. “Your right – that’s impressive.”

“Then you’re too easily impressed.” He replied, dismissively. 

Molly glanced at his older brother, and then back at him. “Well, _you_ certainly didn’t get a scholarship for conversational skills.” She remarked, before walking past them, and putting her bag of musical books in her allotted pigeonhole.

“And you _definitely_ didn’t get one for minding your own business.” Sherlock retorted. His tone wasn’t angry or defensive, simply nonchalant. That just made it even more infuriating. 

There were a lot of bad words that Molly wanted to use. She said none of them.


End file.
